


Reason to Celebrate

by softestpunk



Series: (Witcher) Christmas Kisses [3]
Category: Thronebreaker: The Witcher Tales, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 15:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16813747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/softestpunk
Summary: Reynard's midwinter feast turns out to be cause for celebration when Meve makes a surprising offer.





	Reason to Celebrate

Reynard sat back, sated, half a goblet of wine too tipsy, and realised that he and Meve were the last two in the hall--at least, the last two conscious.

A few scattered lords who had overshot their alcohol tolerance by vastly more than a half-goblet snored on the long table, drooling into the scuffed wood. Their midwinter celebration would leave them with a sore head in the morning, but happy memories. Happy memories in a time when happiness was precious.

It was good, Reynard thought, for the realm to have reason to celebrate.

“Still awake, Reynard?” Meve asked, laughter in her voice, and _oh_ had it been good to hear her laugh tonight.

“Still awake, your majesy,” he murmured. “ _Majesty_ ,” he corrected, scowling at his misstep.

Meve laughed again, soft and light, the sound warming the very depths of Reynard’s soul.

“Drunk, Reynard? A knight of my kingdom, a man who sits at my right hand in all things, _drunk_?” she asked, clearly not entirely sober herself.

“Never too drunk to do whatever you may ask, your grace,” Reynard said, and it was true. He always kept his wits about him, in case his queen needed him.

Meve hummed, shifting in her chair as if to burrow deeper into the fur draped over it.

“Whatever?” she asked, eyes glinting as a small, pleased smile spread over her face. “A dangerous offer, Reynard. I might have you conquer half the North with me.”

Reynard wet his lips. “While I might wish your majesty would refrain from any unnecessary military aggression, I would also march with her to the very gates of hell and kick them down the moment she gave the order.”

“I had thought to ask you to escort me to my chambers, but your idea for an expedition _does_ sound exciting.”

Reynard smiled wryly, gathering himself together to stand beside Meve, offering a hand to help her rise. Improper, he knew, but Meve’s feelings on propriety had relaxed considerably since the war, and had never been particularly strong in the first place. She did as she wished, and gods help anyone who told her otherwise.

When she stood and took Reynard’s arm by force, holding it as if it, too, had been offered, Reynard only hid his smile and ignored the fluttering in his chest, the surge of affection he felt for his queen.

He had loved her so long that it was simply a part of him now, as necessary as air and as ever-present as his own heartbeat.

“A good night,” Meve said as they padded down stone corridors, footsteps echoing in the otherwise perfect silence of the castle. The walk had sobered him, his head clearing as much as it could while Meve was still clinging to his arm.

“Yes, your grace,” Reynard agreed. “Your lords will have nothing but praises to sing for your hospitality.”

“And what of my knights? Will Sir Reynard sing my praises come morn?”

Reynard’s neck warmed under his collar, and he was glad of the low light hiding his blush. “Of course, your majesty. Tomorrow and every day hence,” he promised softly.

“Sir Reynard _is_ her majesty’s favourite knight for a reason,” Meve said, her tone still light and warm as they approached the door to her chambers.

Reynard rarely stood outside this door in any situation other than outright emergency, awaiting orders as soon as Meve was dressed--and sometimes receiving them while she was still in a robe.

He had never stood on the other side of it. This was the queen’s sanctuary, and only a few hand-picked maids were allowed in. Girls from the families not of lords, as would be customary, but of knights. Warriors. Men and women who had proved themselves useful to Meve in battle.

“And despite this, he is yet to make his desire to court her known,” she added, coming to a full stop with her back to the wooden door.

Reynard’s heart pounded in his ears. He had done everything he could to keep his true feelings to himself, but Meve was perceptive. She had known, he realised, for quite some time.

“Your majesty, I… I couldn’t possibly…”

“You do not desire this?” Meve asked, one elegant eyebrow raised.

Reynard swallowed. He could not lie to his queen, not again. Not after all they’d been through.

“I do, your majesty,” he told Meve’s slippers, unable to meet her eyes for this confession. “But I know my place. I would never presume…”

“Reynard,” Meve said, her tone commanding his attention, forcing his head to snap up. “You have served me loyally and well for long enough to know that _I_ dictate everyone’s place. I decide who might and might not be permitted to state their intentions.”

Shock and confusion left Reynard’s head spinning. He had expected a rebuke, an order to give it up and find a wife and stop pining quietly, but…

Before he could gather his wits, Meve’s hand was fisted in the collar of his doublet. She pulled him in with greater strength than her beauty would have hinted at, bringing their mouths together with force and passion Reynard had only ever seen on the battlefield before.

After another heartbeat of confusion and dizziness, Reynard found himself giving in, kissing back, parting his lips to make them soft for her, mindful of the scar he knew sometimes pained her still, allowing his queen to take whatever she wished. He would have given her anything, laid down his life without a moment’s thought.

This, he could hardly believe she wanted. He was old, and tired, a warrior well past his prime and of no noble birth, dragged up through the ranks at the whim of her husband. All he’d ever had to offer was his loyalty and service.

She tasted of wine, and smelled of roses and honey, and Reynard could happily have drowned in her sudden show of softness, a side he always felt honoured to see and doubly honoured, now, to be drawn into.

Reynard’s lungs burned for air when the kiss broke, panting harshly, his whole body thrumming with excitement and possibilities.

“In the morning,” Meve said, not letting go of Reynard’s collar. “You may inform me of your intentions, if you wish.”

Reynard nodded, knowing already that he would not miss his chance, not for anything. He had little to give but himself, and yet he would have given everything he had to Meve. Everything he was.

“For the evening,” Meve continued, pushing the door behind her open with her foot. Reynard’s eyes widened as she dragged him backwards, through the door, dismissing a startled chambermaid with a wave of her hand. “I think we can afford to start one small scandal. What say you?”

Heart in his throat, Reynard nodded again. “Yes, your grace. Anything, your grace.”

Meve’s eyes lit up, a smile spreading over her regal features. “I thought you might say that.”


End file.
